The Redbreast(140)

‘Is it her lipstick?’

Juul looked at Harry without answering.

‘She was terrified when I talked to her on the

phone,’ Harry said. ‘She kept saying someone was

trying to kill her. Have you any idea who that could

have been?’

‘Kill?’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘But no one wants to kill Signe.’

‘No?’

‘Are you crazy, man?’

‘Well, in that case, I’m sure you’ll understand that

I have to ask you if your wife was unstable.

Hysterical.’

Harry wasn’t sure that Juul had heard him when

Juul shook his head.

‘Fine,’ Harry said, getting up. ‘You’ll have to

rack your brains for anything at all that might help

us. And you should call all your friends and

relatives to see if she has gone there for protection.

I have started a search – Moen and I will check the

immediate vicinity. For the time being, there’s not

a lot else we can do.’

As Harry closed the door behind him, Moen came

walking towards him. He was shaking his head.

‘No one even saw a car?’ Harry asked.

‘At this time of day there are only pensioners and

mothers with small children at home.’

‘Pensioners are good at noticing things.’

‘Not this time, apparently. If there was anything

remotely worth noticing, that is.’

Worth noticing. Harry didn’t know why, but there

was something about Moen’s phrasing that

resonated at the back of his brain. The children on

the bicycles had vanished. He sighed.

‘Let’s be off.’

79

Police HQ. 11 May 2000.

HALVORSEN WAS ON THE TELEPHONE WHEN HARRY

WENT into the office. He put a finger against his

lips to show someone was talking. Harry guessed

he was still trying to trace the woman at the

Continental, and that could only mean he hadn’t

had any luck at the Foreign Office. Apart from a

pile of case notes on Halvorsen’s desk, the office

was free of paper. Everything but the Märklin case

had been cleared away.

‘No,’ Halvorsen said. ‘Let me know if you hear

anything, OK?’

He put down the receiver.

‘Did you get hold of Aune?’ Harry asked,

dropping down on to his chair.

Halvorsen nodded and raised two fingers. Two

o’clock. Harry consulted his watch. Aune would

be there in twenty minutes.

‘Get me a picture of Edvard Mosken,’ Harry said,

picking up the receiver. He tapped in Sindre

Fauke’s number and they agreed to meet at three.

Then he told Halvorsen about Signe Juul’s

disappearance.

‘Do you think it has anything to do with the

Brandhaug case?’ Halvorsen asked.

‘I don’t know, but it makes it all the more

important that we talk to Aune.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because this is beginning to look more and more

like the work of someone unhinged. So we need an

expert.’

Aune was a big man in many ways. Overweight,

almost two metres tall, and he was considered to

be the best psychologist in his field. This field was

not abnormal psychology, but Aune was a clever

man and he had helped Harry on other cases.

He had a friendly, open face and it had often

struck Harry that Aune was actually too human, too

vulnerable, too alright to be able to operate on the battlefield of the human psyche without being

damaged by it. When Harry asked him about this,

Aune had replied that of course he was affected,

but then who wasn’t?

Now he was listening attentively to Harry as he

spoke. About the slitting of Hallgrim Dale’s throat,

the murder of Ellen Gjelten and the assassination

of Bernt Brandhaug. Harry told him about Even

Juul, who thought they should be looking for a

soldier who had fought on the Russian Front, a

theory which may have been strengthened by

Brandhaug being killed after the report in

Dagbladet. Finally, he told him about Signe Juul’s

disappearance.

Afterwards Aune sat deep in thought. He grunted

as he alternated between nodding and shaking his

head.

‘I regret to say that I am not sure I can help you

much,’ he said. ‘The only thing I have to work on

is the message on the mirror. It’s reminiscent of a

calling card and it is quite normal for serial

killers, especially after several killings when they

begin to feel secure enough to want to up the ante

by provoking the police.’

‘Is he a sick man, Aune?’

‘Sick is a relative concept. We’re all sick. The

question is, what degree of functionality do we

have with respect to the rules society sets for

desirable behaviour? No actions are in themselves

symptoms of sickness. You have to look at the